Caran Annún: Red Sunset
by Mara-DragonMaster
Summary: Sequel to 'Caran Amrún: Red Sunrise': read that first. This is a story of the struggle of heroes, of prophecies fulfilled, and of a love that loses the world, yet gains the heavens…
1. Lómea Hendu: Shadowed Eyes

"**Caran Annún" (Red Sunset)**

Chapter One

_Lómea Hendu (Shadowed Eyes)_

* * *

It was late the next morning before Legolas again saw Mary. He had left Gimli to his long breakfast, to wander the turrets and gaze out at the mountains. As he stood there, with the breeze on his face and his eyes seeing far across the plains, he became aware of a presence beside him, a low and soft humming beginning, and he recognized the tune. It was the song sung to him the morning after the battle at Helm's Deep: 

'Once there was a young boy

Of whom I shall tell

He was very fair with dark hair

I knew him very well…'

"Veduí, Héri Mary." He said. _Greetings, Lady Mary._

"Veduí, Haryon Legolas." _Greetings, Prince Legolas._

There was silence then, as each rested in the others company.

"Manen nalyë?" he asked. _How are you?_

"Im maer." She replied. _I'm well._

Legolas did not speak then, his arms crossing his body to hug himself against a blast of cold wind. She leaned against the stone wall, the wind blowing her surcoat and split under-dress about her legs, revealing the grey leggings and tall, laced boots she wore. Legolas felt the old fears rise up yet again as he watched her, dark hair blowing against her fair face, and he dropped his gaze, leaning his hands against the wall.

"Ah-le?" _And you?_

For a moment he did not speak. "Where will you ride?" he finally asked quietly.

Dark eyes turned to him in surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Legolas looked at her. "I go with Aragorn and Gimli, and the King. What of you? Will you stay behind, or will you ride forth?"

Mary glanced away, her eyes downcast, her brow furrowed in thought. "I will go where I am needed most." She finally said.

"And where is that?"

Mary looked at him, her brown eyes unusually dark. "Time will tell." She finally whispered.

Legolas felt surprise then, and something else– he could not tell if it was unease, or relief, for he realized that she was uncertain. For once, Mary did not know.

* * *

An hour past noon the entire company of Théoden's men were prepared to ride out. It was then that Aragorn arrived with the Dunedain, and announced that he would not travel with them, but rather go by a different route– through the Paths of the Dead. Mary waited in the company astride her horse, Ædelstan, her face a mask, for she had known this would happen. Yet she turned to catch Legolas' eye as he looked to her with a sharp gaze that darkened further with concern. He would not leave Aragorn's side, yet his worry for the young woman grew as it became clear that they would be separated, for while Aragorn would venture down those paths himself, and allow his companions and the Dunedain to follow, he would never let her.

As Théoden bid them farewell Legolas turned Arod and pushed his way through the mass of mounted men, Gimli complaining behind him as they were jostled on all sides. Yet Legolas called her name and continued until he reached Mary's side, pulling his horse beside hers.

"Nai?" he exclaimed, his eyes burning into hers as Arod danced beneath him. "Lothron hi n-vín úmarth, na thand-esse hi mé?" _May it be? May this be our fate (bad), to part in this way?_

Her eyes were hard with an inner fire, and some strange look of desperation. "É." _Indeed._

"Baw! Avon léne le." _No! I will not leave you._

"Le-uva! Ben le léne Aragorn ah-Gimli na fuin ah-nienor!" _You will! Or you leave Aragorn and Gimli to darkness and sorrow!_

Legolas glared at her, and she glared back, their horses dancing around each other as riders thundered past. As quickly as it came Legolas felt his anger melt away, replaced instead by an ache. He could not know it, but it shone in his eyes, and Mary saw it.

"I will see you again, my Prince." She swore, her voice suddenly gentle and her eyes softening. A wetness shone in them, though it did not fall. "One way or another."

Then she was gone, disappearing into the throng of riders that poured through the gates and away from the Keep. Legolas watched after, holding tightly onto her parting words, reminding himself of her prophecy to him days earlier– that he would see the end of the war, and he grasped and held onto the hope that they would again meet.

* * *

To Dunharrow did Aragorn and the Dunedain ride, fast and true, and Legolas and Gimli with them. There they rested for the night, in the care of the lady Éowyn, who waited there for her King to bid him farewell. Yet as Aragorn made his way into the quarters set aside for himself and his companions– where Legolas and Gimli already rested– she came to him. Upon learning of his destination she begged him not to go, but to ride with Théoden and go to battle, and when he would not she asked that she might go with him, proclaiming that she feared neither pain nor death.

"What do you fear, lady?" he asked.

Her face became taut. "A cage, to stay behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire."

"And yet you counseled me not to adventure on the road I had chosen," he said in grim bemusement. "Because it is perilous?"

Her chin rose. "So one may counsel another." She said. "Yet I do not bid you flee from peril, but to ride to battle where your sword may win renown and victory. I would not see a thing that is high and excellent cast away needlessly!"

"Nor would I," Aragorn agreed. "Therefore I say to you, lady: Stay! For you have no errand to the South."

"Nether have those others who go with you." Éowyn said, her voice tight. "They go only because they would not be parted from you– because they love you!" So saying she turned and fled from him, disappearing into the night.

Aragorn sighed, lowering his head. A cool breeze stirred around his face, its touch gentle.

"It is strange, is it not?" a quiet voice said beside him. "One who desires to go with all her heart is denied the chance, while another refuses it when it is given her."

Aragorn looked up at his friend, and saw there an intense longing in the far-seeing eyes as they looked out into the endless night sky. "Of what do you speak, mellon nin?" Aragorn asked.

Legolas looked at him, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I speak of our latest companion," he said. "One who has now left us."

Understanding dawned in Aragorn's mind. "She chose not to come, though you offered to her the chance."

"É." Legolas frowned. "Also did I offer to stay by her side, though it meant leaving yours."

Aragorn glanced at him in surprise.

"Yet even that she refused."

"You are frustrated by this." He observed.

"Indeed. Though I do not understand. Surely she is more safe in Théoden's company than if she rode our chosen path!"

"Indeed she is." Aragorn mused for a moment over his friend, bemused. Finally he laid a hand on the elf's arm. "Come, Legolas. The morrow's ride will be long and hard. Let us sleep while we are still able.

* * *

Mary traveled with the great company for three full days, and long days they were, the silence broken only a few times by a deep throated Rohan song. Ever she watched the small hobbit riding behind the king, her dark eyes keen. Then men gave her space, for she seemed strange to them, with her fair skin and split under-dress and surcoat, riding astride as a man. They watched her, wondering, for she had been ever in the company of the ranger and the elf and the dwarf, yet now she had left their side and rode silently among them. She spoke of the future, it was whispered, yet only in riddles and rhymes, never plainly; and she had the gift of healing. For that she was respected, as many of the men riding had been cared for by her hand, and many a man's life saved.

At last they reached Dunharrow, and learned of Aragorn's passing through on his way to the Paths of the Dead. Late that night, after Théoden had spoken long with Éomer and Éowyn, Mary wandered the darkened camp, till she found herself at Ædelstan's side. The horse whickered, snuffling her hair affectionately as she rubbed his strong neck.

"He loves you."

Mary turned, and saw the pale shield-maiden standing behind her, face lined with care and worry. Éowyn approached and laid a hand on the horse's side, stroking the dark coat.

Mary rubbed Ædelstan's nose, turning her attention back to her horse. "Do not despair, Éowyn." She said, choosing her words carefully. She felt the hard gaze of the grey-eyed woman as her words captured the lady's attention. "You were not born to a cage, and great deeds are never beyond recall, not even when one is old."

Éowyn stared at her, eyes wide, some of her worry forgotten. "How do you know this?" she whispered.

Mary looked at her, and smiled, Ædelstan sniffing her hair and whickering deep in his throat. "You have great courage," she said. "And great strength. Hold to that. And hold to hope. A time will come when your sword-arm will feel the bite of black teeth, and a wyrm shall seek to devour a golden heart."

Éowyn felt a clutch of fear, and for a moment the thought of battle did not seem so grand. Yet Mary's words confused her, for as it was said in the rumors, she had spoken in a riddle. The lady frowned. "I do not understand."

Mary smiled slightly, seeming almost to smile at some dark irony, and then she turned, and would say no more. Éowyn opened her mouth to ask once more, then paused, realizing that if Mary had meant to speak plain, she would have. Yet she did not. So it was up to Éowyn to find the meaning, if she wished to understand. Contemplating this, Éowyn left, and retired to her own bed.

Mary stayed with Ædelstan, rubbing him and speaking to him with quiet words. Soon after the lady of Rohan had left there was the soft patter of small feet, and Merry appeared at her side. He looked up at her, and at the horse for a moment.

"Can't you sleep?" he asked.

Mary looked down, and offered a reassuring smile when she saw the sadness in his face. "Not yet." She said.

"Me neither." Merry laid a hand on the horse's side, and left it there, letting the warmth of the great beast soak in and travel through his arm. "I have been released from the King's service." He said. "I am not to go along."

She was silent.

"But I want to go!" The hobbit looked up with pleading eyes. "I don't want to be left behind! Not when all my friends have gone! Please, Mary, isn't there anything you can do? You're a prophetess! You could speak to Théoden."

She smiled. "No, I couldn't, Merry. He would not heed my words."

Merry frowned in frustration. "But what am I to _do_?"

"You have high spirits, Merry." She said, turning her dark eyes on him. "And a brave heart." The hobbit looked unconvinced. "There is a saying where I come from," she continued. "'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.'"

"But I have already taken thousands of steps!" Merry exclaimed.

"And so you shall take a thousand more. And a thousand more. And a thousand more still." Her eyes glowed with warm reassurance. "Do not worry, small friend. Your journey does not end here."

Merry gazed at her a moment longer, then he sighed, and looked to the horse, and nodded. "I suppose that will have to do." He said, looking calmer. "You don't say things that aren't true, anyways. So I suppose I should take comfort in that." He smiled, and scratched the horse's shoulder and leg. "Well, I'm off to bed." He said, and looked up at her. "Goodnight, Mary."

"Goodnight, Merry."

As he walked away, she heard him talking to himself, his voice strong and determined. "I won't be left behind! I won't be left, I won't!"

The next day as the company headed out, a small young soldier who called himself Dernhelm swept Merry onto his horse, and hid him in his cloak. And as the soldier rode hard and fast with the King's company, he saw another young rider pass him, clad all in grey. And as the rider passed he turned his head, and dark eyes pierced into the young soldier, and seemed to crinkle at the corners with a knowing smile, looking first at Dernhelm, then at Merry. Then he was gone. Dernhelm wondered at it, his neck prickling, and Merry wondered at it as well, for he felt that he knew the young rider, though he did not know why.

* * *


	2. Talt Nín: Falling Tear

"**Caran Annún" (Red Sunset)**

Chapter Two

_Talt Nín (Falling Tear)_

* * *

It was a cold morning, darkened by some strange shadow, and the land all around lay grey. The great host of Rohan stood silent and grim upon their steeds. Before them stretched the plains before Minas Tirith. Fires leapt up here and there, and a terrible blackness writhed and moved in a large crescent; surely the enemy could not have gathered an army so large? It seemed then that Minas Tirith had already fallen, and Théoden sat as a man without hope, believing that they had come too late to Gondor's aid. 

Merry peered out, sitting before Dernhelm on the soldier's horse, and his heart fell. The city was overtaken. Had Pippin been there when it happened? Was Pippin alive, or dead?

A rider suddenly pulled his horse beside them, and Merry recognized it as the grey clad rider he had seen when they had first left for Gondor. The dark horse pranced with pent-up energy, and the rider's dark eyes gleamed out from the helm that covered his face. Again he felt a sense of familiarity wash over him as those eyes found and held him in their gaze, and he thought that they were trying to tell him something. Then the rider's head snapped up as a great _boom_ rolled out across the plain from the black host, and Merry turned. There was a sudden change; wind blew in his face, and light glimmered as the clouds broke and morning came, and the city glittered and shone a brilliant and blinding white, a beacon of light in the darkness.

Théoden turned to his company, straight and tall, the shadow gone from his eyes and replaced by a blazing fire. Before them he spurred his horse, riding down the lines, his voice carrying to every riders' ear:

_Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!_

_Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!_

_Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,_

_a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!_

_Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!_

Then Théoden blew a great blast from his horn, and all the horns of Rohan answered it in a resounding, echoing call that carried across the plain. As one the company moved, led by their king, and poured down upon the black host, singing as they went, and their charge and their song struck terror into the hearts of the enemy. They wailed, and some tried to defend themselves, and others fled, but it was to no avail. The riders of Rohan cut them down and scattered them, and none were fiercer than Théoden the king.

Upon Dernhelm's horse, Merry held the reins, guiding them as Dernhelm cut down their foes on either side, staying always with the king. Then suddenly a darkness obscured the sun, and cast a great shadow across the brave company, and Merry heard a terrible cry of warning. Turning he saw the grey rider forcing his steed through the chaos, and his black eyes were wild with a great fear. Then he tore off his helmet, and long dark hair fell about the fair face. It was Mary, and she cried out again to Théoden, trying desperately to reach him.

Great wings beat above them with a foul smelling wind, and terrible claws caught up Snowmane, Théoden's horse, and threw it into the air. Snowmane crashed to the ground with a sickening sound, and Théoden was trapped beneath, crushed by the weight of the horse.

Merry looked up from where he had fallen, for Dernhelm's horse had reared and thrown his riders from his back. Before him was a creature that froze the blood in his veins, and he could not move. It was large and like a bird, its skin naked and like leather, a terrible evil that smelled of stink and rot. From its throat came a chilling cry, causing all to scatter in fear. Upon its back sat a black robed rider with a crown upon his head, yet where his face should have been there was nothing but blackness, and two glowing eyes of fire.

A voice cut through Merry's haze of terror: "Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!"

The Lord of the Nazgûl answered her in a cold voice. "Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey!"

There was the sound of a sword being drawn, and Dernhelm spoke yet again. "Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may."

"Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!"

With that the great creature gave another cry and rose into the air, and then it dove, mouth open to tear the soldier apart. Yet the soldier's aim was true, and his arm strong, and he cut the head from the creature's neck, bounding back as the great body crashed to the earth.

Then the Lord of the Nazgûl rose from the wreck of his steed and he came at Dernhelm, mace swinging through the air with a cry of hatred. Dernhelm's shield shattered and broke, and he gave a cry as his arm also broke.

Watching as the brave young soldier fell to his knees, cradling his arm, Merry felt a terrible urgency, and sought for his sword– which he had dropped when he had fallen.

"Merry!"

Suddenly it appeared beside him, thrust out by Mary whose eyes were large and wild. The hobbit took it, and crawled forward as the Nazgûl bore down on Dernhelm.

"No living man may hinder me!" it hissed yet again.

Then Dernhelm reached up and pulled away his helm, and it was not Dernhelm, but Éowyn, her golden hair falling free about her shoulders. "But no living man am I! You look upon a woman."

Then the Lord of the Nazgûl faltered, and he seemed to suddenly doubt. In that moment Merry gave a great yell, and thrust forward with his little sword, cutting through the dark folds of the cloak and into the shriveled and sinewy flesh behind the knee, and the Lord of the Nazgûl gave a terrible screech that cut through the heart of all who heard it.

"Éowyn!" Merry cried. "Éowyn!"

Then Éowyn gathered all her strength, and stood, and drove her sword between the crown and the cloak, and there was a terrible shrieking. The crown fell away and rolled in the dirt, and the cloak and mantle crumpled to the ground, empty.

Éowyn dropped her sword as though it pained her, and she fell to her knees. Yet she still had strength enough to crawl to her uncle's side.

Théoden lay still beneath his white horse, blood upon his mouth. As Éowyn reached his side and reached out to stroke the side of his face his eyes opened, faltering, then they found her face, and he smiled. "I know your face…" He said wonderingly, gazing at her as though for the first time. "Éowyn…"

She smiled, though tears ran down her face.

Théoden touched her hair, then his smile became shadowed. "My eyes darken."

Fear and grief put out the light that had started to show in her grey eyes. "No!" Éowyn declared. She took his hand in hers, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "No. I am going to save you."

Théoden smiled gently. "You already did." He answered. Then his fingers squeezed hers. "Éowyn, my body is broken. You have to let me go."

Tears rose and spilled from her eyes onto her cheeks, and she wept.

"I go to my fathers," he whispered. "In whose mighty company I shall not now feel ashamed." His eyes suddenly sought hers, and his breath caught in his chest. "Éowyn…"

She clutched his hand, trying to hold him to her, but she could not stop the final breath from leaving him, and she could not hold the light that left his eyes as they gazed on her face. A great pain welled up within her, and she laid herself on his body, and wept hard and brokenly, until at last her wounds claimed her and she fell into darkness.

Merry watched in shock, his body strangely cold and numb. He could not understand what had happened, and his mind could not comprehend what his eyes showed him to be true.

Behind, on her knees with her dark hair blowing tangled about her face, Mary pressed her hands to the torn ground and bowed her head, fighting the tightness of her chest, tears falling to the earth.

Then reinforcements came to aid the enemy, and it seemed to all that hope had at last abandoned them. The men of Rohan fought with fire and ferocity, and Éomer the fiercest among them, to avenge the death of their king and of Éowyn, who had been found laying beside. Mary also fought, her face grim, yet in her eyes grew a storm of fury. She swung her sword about her, cutting the throats and bellies of several orcs, and then drove it forward into another who attacked with a raised ax.

Shadow once more covered the plain, and the Rohirrim gathered around their captain, Éomer, and prepared for a final stand. Mary stood beside, her sword black with orc blood and held ready, yet her eyes kept straying to the river. Soon a cry went up that ships with black sails had arrived, and the riders of Rohan felt sure that death would come to them all. Yet then they saw that the sails were not all black, and that the standard upon the foremost ship was that of a great white tree in full bloom, and a crown above it, and seven stars all around that flamed in the sunlight. It was Aragorn, come with a host to aid the Rohirrim and drive away the enemy.

* * *

Long the battle had been, and many had died, yet Gondor and Rohan had emerged victorious. Legolas made his way down the street and to the Houses of Healing, where Aragorn had been hard at work healing Merry and Faramir and Éowyn. Gimli walked beside the elf, and glanced up continuously at him, his dark eyes narrowed. Finally Legolas stopped walking and turned to him. "What is it, Master Dwarf?" 

"Be still, Master Elf, and curb your worry." Gimli said with a huff. "She was not amongst the dead, so be at peace."

"Yet she may be amongst the wounded." Legolas answered, and started to stride forward once more. Gimli gave a shake of his head and hurried to keep up, trying to match the elf's long stride.

They met Aragorn in the hall, speaking with Gandalf. He looked tired as he turned to them, his eyes ringed with weariness, yet he still smiled. "My friends. It is good to see you."

"Mae govannen, Aragorn." Legolas greeted him. _Well met, Aragorn._

"So, how fares the young hobbit?" Gimli asked. "He looked grey about the face when he was brought to this house."

"He is well, and Pippin is with him." Gandalf answered with a satisfied smile. "And Faramir and Éowyn shall heal also, I think."

"That is good news!" Gimli rumbled.

Legolas turned to Aragorn. "What of the lady Mary?" he asked quietly. "Has she been seen?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Not by me. Though I do not believe she is among the wounded here, unless by some foul chance she has not yet been brought in."

Legolas' mouth became a thin line, and he glanced away.

Aragorn noticed, and set a hand to the elf's shoulder. "Ask the Warden of the Houses of Healing. If any can tell you, it is he."

"Hmm?" Gandalf turned to them from his talk with Gimli. "And what is it you would ask the Warden of this house?"

"The lady Mary." Legolas replied.

"Oh! Well, then be comforted, young prince." Gandalf said, smiling with a twinkle in his eye. "For she is unharmed, and has gone to speak with Éowyn. She was met by Pippin and myself as we sought Merry's room."

A look of relief washed then over Legolas' face, so intense and sudden that Aragorn and Gimli stared. "Thank you, Mithrandir." He said, tipping his head. Then he turned and left them.

* * *

Mary stood in the doorway, staring at the still, pale form on the bed. Presently Éowyn turned her face, sensing the presence of another, and opened her eyes. When they lit upon Mary they grew hard. "Lady Mary." 

"My lady." Mary tipped her head, her eyes uncertain. Her step was slow and hesitant as she approached. "How do you fare?"

"Better than others. Better than most." Hard, grey eyes held her. "But then you know that already, do you not? As you knew the fate of my uncle!"

Mary's lips pressed together, and she turned her head. When she spoke, her voice was tight. "I am so sorry, Éowyn." She whispered, and turned back to the fair lady. "I am so, so sorry. If I could have done anything…"

"You could have!" Éowyn snapped back. "You knew it would happen, that the foul servant of the dark lord would attack him. You knew of his death, and you did nothing!"

"I spent the four days of our ride here trying to think of a way to save him!" Mary exclaimed, her voice hurt and at the same time tinged with a hint of anger. "I thought of _everything_! How could I protect him against that creature the Nazgûl rode?"

"You know the arts of healing!" the lady of Rohan pushed herself up in the bed, her eyes blazing. "Yet you left him there, crushed and bleeding, to die!"

"His injuries were too severe." Mary said, her voice tight. "I could have done nothing. As you said, he was crushed; there was no time to save him."

"You left him to die, and yet you sought to give me false hope when last we met!" Éowyn continued as though she did not hear. "You could have spoken to me of what was to pass, to warn me so that I might do something, but no! You have this gift, the gift of foresight, yet what have you done with it? Have you told us of what is to come so that we might prepare? Have you interfered that good men who died before their time would live? No! You hoard the knowledge to yourself and leave us to suffer, watching as we are overtaken by darkness! You claim to give us hope, yet all your words are but riddles and rhymes designed to keep us from knowing the truth! Do you not remember your last words to me? 'A time will come when your sword-arm will feel the bite of black teeth, and a wyrm shall seek to devour a golden heart.' You hold your tongue and say nothing, and when you do speak you twist your words so that we do not understand! You are not deserving of your gift!"

Silence held the room, hanging in a heavy cloud. Mary glanced down, swallowing, her eyes blinking against the wetness that filled them. When she looked up again there was no light in her eyes, and a deadness in her face. "Forgive me for causing you so much pain, lady of Rohan." She whispered.

* * *

Legolas slowed as he reached the door to Éowyn's room, the raised voice and angry words marking a frown upon his face. Outside the door he paused a moment to listen, and his frown deepened at the hatred in the words that he heard, their anger rising into a final declaration. 

"… You are not deserving of your gift!"

There was silence then. Legolas became aware of the tightness of his fist, held at his side. It tightened further when he heard the quiet whisper that finally spoke.

"Forgive me for causing you so much pain, lady of Rohan."

A moment later the door opened abruptly, and Mary flew from the room, colliding into him and twisting away to run from the House. Turning narrowed and seething eyes into the room Legolas saw Éowyn sitting in her bed, her skin pale from her outburst, and her face grew even paler under the fury of his gaze. Turning Legolas left, intent on chasing after the grey maiden, when Aragorn, Gandalf and Gimli suddenly arrived.

"What is this shouting?" the wizard demanded.

"Ask the lady within," Legolas hissed. "For it seems she believes Mary to be the cause of her uncle's death."

"I heard." Aragorn said quietly. His brow was dark. "Go to her, Legolas. I will deal with what is here."

Aragorn entered the still room, and approached the bed. The lady there quaked under the fury of his gaze, yet still she raised a defiant chin. "My lord."

"What have you said?" Aragorn demanded, his voice dangerously low.

Her lips grew tight, and her grey eyes shadowed. "Nothing that did not warrant being said." She answered. At his frown she exclaimed: "Surely you cannot side with her! She is a concealer, one who deceives us and does nothing to save the dead–"

"The dead cannot be saved!" Aragorn's voice was loud and sharp, silencing her. "The lady Mary bears a heavy burden," he rebuked. "She knows what is to happen, yes, and who will win this war, and so she must be careful in her actions and her words less she destroy that future. Many things she wishes to change, and yet she cannot! She must watch those around her die, helpless to save them, and so she bears a grief we cannot know! She deserves your sympathy, not your malice!"

Éowyn looked away, tears filling her eyes.

"Éowyn," Aragorn said, his voice once more low. The lady looked at him. "She could not have saved your uncle. His injuries were mortal. You know this."

Her breath caught. "She could have warned me." She insisted, her voice thick.

"What good would that have served?" Aragorn asked. "It would have driven you to despair. You would have been lost to us before ever you rode out."

Éowyn put her hands to her face, and started to weep.

"The weight of the dead is a heavy burden." Aragorn whispered. "And Mary must bear it. You have served only to increase that weight by adding to it the blame and guilt for it all."

* * *

Legolas sped through the city, ignoring the stares of the people as the tall elf rushed passed, his grey cloak and golden hair streaming out behind him. He followed her in her flight to a section of the wall, which was now empty, and it was there he caught up with her, as she bent over gasping, tears on her face. As he neared her she heard his steps, and straightened to walk away. 

Legolas followed. "Mary…"

"Leave me!" her tone was sharp and bitter.

"Mary…"

"Leave me!" her voice rose with anger and grief, harsh and thick. "I am not worthy of your care."

"Baw! Mary!" He drew closer, gaining on her. _No! Mary!_

"No!" her steps quickened.

His jaw clenched, a muscle working in it. Legolas matched her speed, even as she began to run again, fleeing from him. Chasing after her along the top of the wall he caught her hand, pulling her to an abrupt stop even as she cried out against him, the momentum swinging her around and into him. At first Legolas stumbled back in shock at finding her in his arms, yet when she began to struggle against him, yelling at him in elvish, he threw thoughts of propriety from his head and wrapped his arms around her, enfolding her within his embrace. She struggled all the harder, hitting his shoulders furiously with heartbroken shouts, yet still he held her tightly, saying words to her in a quick and desperate tone. Suddenly her arms were about his neck, and her face pressed to the collar of his shirt and cloak. A terrible weeping took her, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Legolas held her gently yet tightly, whispering streams of elvish nonsense into her ear, unaware of what he was saying, the words falling from his lips quickly.

Eventually Mary's sobs subsided, and she wept quietly. Then even that grew silent. Her body began to sag in his arms with weariness, spent from the outpour of grief, and her hands loosed their clutch on his cloak. Legolas shifted to free one arm, and with that hand he touched her face so that she lifted it, her tears warm on his fingers, rivers of salt dried on her cheeks. Her eyes were black pools staring up at him, their brown the color of ash, and full of despair.

"I should have done something." She whispered.

Legolas shook his head, his voice a whisper. "No."

"Yes." She pressed the back of her hand to her nose and rubbed. "I should have. I could have thought of something, _anything_… and now he's dead." Tears filled her eyes again, her face twisting, and she pressed her hands to her face.

"Mary, there was nothing you could have done." Legolas insisted. Taking a chance he gently hooked her chin on his finger. "She was wrong to say such things to you. They were words of anger and grief, not truth."

Something between a laugh and a sob escaped her. "You know the worst thing?" she asked. "Of all things, this was the one things I could change without affecting the outcome of the war. It would have been okay. And of all things this was the one thing I couldn't change! No matter how hard I tried!" Tears ran down her cheeks as she gave a bitter smile. "How cruel is that?"

Legolas could only gaze at her, his eyes a deeper shade of blue with pain and sympathy.

Pulling from his arms Mary slid against the wall to the stone floor, and drew her knees up, curling in on herself. "I don't know what I'm doing." She whispered. "I don't know if I'm handling this right." She looked up as Legolas sat down beside her, one knee drawn up as he leaned back against the wall. "Mana osán-le, Legolas?" She asked, resting her head back against the stone as she looked at him. _What think you, Legolas?_

Legolas looked at his hands atop his knee. "Im avo sinte." he said quietly. "Im avo gar-en ant apacen-o." _I don't know. I don't have the gift of foresight._

"Nán tó na-ha!" _But that is it!_ Mary exclaimed, exasperated. ""I _don't_ have the 'gift of foresight.' I read a book! That's _it!_ I can't see the future, I don't have visions, I just read a story! And yet people look to me like I'm this 'person,' like I have some special power. But I don't! I don't!"

"Ai, Mary," Legolas tipped his head back. "Gohen-nin." he turned his head against the wall to look at her. "Im gost-mín gar-ilya mauy-le na col-nad tó úye-an le na bróg." _Forgive me. I fear we have all force(d) you to carry (a) thing that is not for you to bear._

"O daur ha." Mary chastised, waving a hand at him. "Le a cín mellons gar-úqua na cerí-as ha, ennas-an avo le ye eden." _Oh stop it. You and your friends have nothing to do with it, there-for don't you even begin (again)._

"Mín gar-thír na le na dain vín her-nienor a na on-ammen harthad." _We have looked to you to silence our own sorrow and to give us hope._

"A im thír an úqua tare." Mary said, looking up at him. "Le nin mellons. Ye ai im her-ú e 'ant,' min dain cín nienor a on-le harthad." _And I look for nothing more. You (are) my friends. Even if I possessed not the 'gift,' I (would) silence your sorrow and give you hope._

Legolas smiled.

"Le n-ú e tyár-o nin dimb." Mary said. "Ha-na tuín im tur-ú beri." _You be not the cause of my grief. It is those I cannot help._

Legolas nodded. "Le sinte le n-ú e tyár an mana cirith." _You know you be not the cause for what passed._

Mary nodded. Her face had relaxed, and the crippling grief that had been there before was gone, replaced with a deep tiredness. "Im sinte. Mal im lothron ú enyal." _I know. But I may not remember._

"Sie im lothron vorima ha." Legolas promised, looking at her with a small smile. "A al le-uva ú last-na nin, im-uva peni Gimli en tas." _So I may repeat it. And if you will not listen to me, I will set Gimli the task._

Mary laughed quietly. "Im estel le-uva." she whispered. _I trust you will._

* * *


	3. Eruanna A Cuil: Grace and Life

**Cuisse:** Plate armor worn to protect the front of the thigh.

**Cuirass:** A piece of armour designed to protect the torso. It comprised both breast and back armour, sometimes shaped to the contours of the chest and back muscles (muscled cuirass). Variously made of laminated linen, leather, sheet-bronze, or iron, or scales of horn, hide, or metal

* * *

"**Caran Annún" (Red Sunset)**

Chapter Three

_Eruanna A Cuil (Grace and Life)_

* * *

Mary sat high upon the wall, with the greensward of the Houses of healing behind her, and before her was the Anduin glittering in the sun, as it flowed away, out of the sight of even Legolas, into the wide flats and green haze of Lebennin and South Ithilien. The hobbits and Gimli sat before her on the wall, and Legolas stood leaning against the wall, gazing out across the great river, watching the gulls as they flew overhead with their strange, lonely cries. They had spent the day together, and Legolas and Gimli had told Merry and Pippin of their adventures through the Paths of the Dead, and how Aragorn had taken up his heritage and commanded the ghost army. Then Pippin, who had first to see Mary, was told of how she had arrived and the part she had played in the Fellowship's adventures and deeds to this point. Yet now they had fallen silent, one and all, lost to their own thoughts.

At length Merry and Pippin began to talk quietly to each other, while Gimli drew long and deep from his pipe, exhaling the smoke with a sigh of contentment. Mary sat against the wall on her side, knees drawn up and hands laced around them. Her head rested against the stone, her eyes staring out at the setting sun, bursting into a thousand fiery diamonds upon the water, and she began to sing, ever so quietly, to herself.

"Home is behind

The world ahead

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadow

To the edge of night

Until the stars are all alight

Mist and shadow

Cloud and shade

All shall fade

All shall fade."

Merry and Pippin had stopped talking, and stared at one another with wide eyes. Then Pippin spun around, and Merry looked over his shoulder. "You know that song?" Pippin exclaimed in surprise.

Mary looked at him quickly, and her cheeks colored, realizing she had been heard. "Yes." She said.

Pippin frowned. "But– how? Ye've never been to the Shire before."

Merry slapped at his friend's shoulder until Pippin turned around. "Because, Pip," he said, tapping his temple. "She _knows_ things, remember?"

"Ya, I know," Pippin insisted. "But I sang that song to the Steward, just now!"

"I know." Mary said, smiling in amusement. "And you sing beautifully, Pippin."

The hobbit's eyes widened, his mouth opening to ask yet another question, then the second part of her response hit him, and his cheeks colored. "Thank you."

Legolas glanced down as Gimli gave a low, chuckling huff from his pipe, and watched as the hobbits turned their complete attention to Mary and peppered her with question after question. Mary answered as best she could, till finally she gave up trying to satisfy their curiosity and just tipped her head back against the stone in resignation, laughing. Legolas smiled, watching her dark eyes sparkle with mirth. He noticed how, when she laughed, her shoulders would shake, and that first her laughter would ring through the air, and then grow silent, and yet her head would drop forward onto her knees and her entire body would continue to shake. Then, when she had gained control, her face would lift, and it would be flushed and her eyes wet from her mirth, and she would have to wipe away the moisture with the back of her hand.

At one point her eyes suddenly flashed to his, and for a moment he saw an ember of something burning brightly within them, so hot and fierce that his breath caught, her eyes almost on fire. Then it was gone, leaving behind a gentle warmth that made the dark of her eyes glow like amber. Then she turned back to the hobbits, and Legolas was left to himself again. Yet it appeared that the ember had left her eyes only to embed itself in the center of his chest, and Legolas returned his gaze to the glittering river, with it smoldering within him.

* * *

Aragorn and Gandalf stood outside the tent, letting the cool of the night air blow across them. "Think you that Frodo shall succeed?" Aragorn asked, his voice in a low whisper lest the wind carry it to unwanted ears.

Gandalf at first did not answer, his clear eyes looking up through the bushiness of his brows into the stars above, his mouth pursed. "I do not know." He admitted. "There is a shadow in my sight that prevents me from seeing him."

Aragorn sighed. "I did not wish for this responsibility, yet I have know all along that it was inevitable."

Gandalf looked at him. "Those who do not wish for power are quite often the ones who most deserve it, who are best able to wield it with wisdom."

"It is a heavy burden."

"Yes." Gandalf agreed, looking again to the stars. "It is indeed."

There was a soft step close by, and from the darkness of the night Mary approached. Upon reaching them she crossed her hand to her shoulder, and tipped her head. "My lord, and Mithrandir."

Aragorn returned the gesture. "My lady."

Mary looked up. "I want to ask for permission to accompany you."

Aragorn's brows drew together, for as yet he had sent no word into the city of the plans he and the Captains had made, to challenge Sauron before his own black gate. Then he laughed at himself. Of course she had known. "It is too dangerous, my lady. You should remain in the city."

In the darkness her eyes suddenly narrowed, blacker than the sky, and they burned. "I would be there." She said, her voice low, trembling slightly with a deep anger and hatred. "All I have done, all I have allowed to happen– it has all been for this, this last stand, this last battle. I would be there to see it. I would be there; at the end of all things."

There was silence upon the field, yet the wind blew through her dark hair and brushed it across her face, and the moon cast her skin in a blue light, so that she looked like some strange spirit with burning eyes.

Gandalf simply turned to Aragorn, to wait for his response.

Aragorn heard her words, saw the meaning behind them, and understood. He nodded. "Very well," he said. "We ride in two days."

A smile curled her mouth, and it was almost feral. "I shall be ready."

The two days went by both slower than expected, and faster than wanted. For all both anticipated and dreaded the day of departure, knowing that most likely none of them would ever return. Mary found for herself a leather cuirass of a small size, and leather bracers for her forearms, and leather cuisses for her legs. With Gimli and Legolas, when one of them had the time, she would train with her sword, and was commended for her natural talent as she quickly learned some of the basic techniques.

When she was alone in her room, Mary practiced by herself to calm her nerves. For though she did not show it, she was afraid. For the others she was confident; she knew none of them died or suffered harm. Yet for herself she had no such guarantee, and the threat of injury and death was very real and very great.

When finally the day came she rose from her bed before the rising of the sun, for she could not sleep. She washed herself with water from a basin, letting the cold of it cool the heat of her skin. Then she slid over her head a white shirt, and over her legs dark leggings, and then over her feet knee-high boots. Then she pulled on a grey surcoat, its length hanging to just below her knees, and split on both sides and front and back– as her previous surcoat had been. With shaking fingers she braided her hair, letting it fall down her back away from her face, and then she went to her armor. The leather was thick, and heavy to her hand, and she put the cuirass over her shoulders and around her body, lacing it snug against her ribs, and tied the bracers to her forearms, and set the cuisses to her thighs, lacing and tying them tightly to her legs. Her sword she belted about her waist, and felt its weight on her hip like a heavy burden. Then she stood for a moment, feeling the armor upon her, and the sword against her leg, and the strength and hardness in her limbs gained from the travel and battle of the last weeks. She was not who she used to be, a young woman who had just moved out on her own, whose only care was how much time she would have to paint her pictures or read her books, or play her violin. She had been soft and innocent then. Now she was hard, and her hands callused. Would any man– would any _elf_– look at her and still see her as gentle? Or was she too weathered?

"It doesn't matter." She whispered. "It never did."

With those words she reached for her grey cloak, given to her by Legolas with a clasp like an oak leaf, and settled it about her shoulders. Then she left her room.

Ædelstan whickered as she drew close, groomed and saddled for her. His dark eyes looked at her gently; already he had grown attached to her, a bond growing between them. Mary rubbed his nose, and held up her hand for him to nuzzle her palm with his lips, seeing if she had brought him a treat. "Well, Ædelstan," she said. "Are you ready? Shall we have one last ride together?"

His head bobbed, and he bumped her shoulder with his nose, chuckling deep in his throat as horses sometimes do.

Mary set her foot in the stirrup, and swung her leg over, settling comfortably on his broad back. Taking the reins she clicked her tongue and her heels, guiding with her hand, and together she and Ædelstan made their way onto the field to join the gathering men. Pippin and Merry were together, happy that both could go, for they wished to never be separated again.

Legolas sat before Gimli on Arod, the white horse dancing beneath them in anticipation; he could smell the coming of battle. Seeing Mary approach on Ædelstan Legolas turned Arod and approached her, bring the two horses together.

"Well, lass." Gimli greeted her. "And how do you fare this morning?"

Mary looked at him a moment, then said. "I am well, Master Gimli. And you?" Yet Legolas noticed the momentary pause before her answer.

"As well as can be expected riding one of these animals. They never stand still." The dwarf answered, a teasing light entering his eyes as he glanced at the elf.

Legolas merely smiled. "The horse would not dance so much if he did not bear the weight of a dwarf."

Gimli narrowed his eyes, then he gave a deep, wry chuckle.

Legolas looked at Mary. "N-le mae é, Mary?" _Be you well indeed, Mary?_

Mary glanced down at the reins in her hand. "Sui mae sui pen tur-ambir." she answered, looking back up at him. _As well as one can hope._

"Le sinte le avá gar-na hótule-as mín." _You know you don't have to come away with us. _

The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "É. Im ceri." _Yes. I do. _

* * *

Mary had discarded her cloak and now stood side by side with Legolas and Gimli, down at the front facing the open Black Gate, watching as hordes upon hordes of evil creatures poured towards the gate to spill through and onto them. She felt her heart pounding within her, and her hands opened and closed time and again on her sword, her body trembling, all worse the closer the creatures got.

"I have been through battles before this and still I shake." She said. Gimli made a sympathetic noise, raising his ax. Mary glanced at Legolas, his face stern and like marble. "Does it ever go away?"

His narrowed blue eyes turned to her. "Nay, fair Mary." He whispered. "It never goes away."

Mary swallowed, and turned back to see the black hordes ever closer. She did not see Legolas still watching her, nor the flash of fear that entered his eyes, nor did she hear the silent vow he made to stay by her side, to protect her at all costs.

"Ilya-o – le ceri-u-nan sí." he whispered. _Of all– you do not belong here._

Mary did not hear the whispered words, but as the black army drew near she forced her shaking nerves to channel their fear into adrenaline and desire– desire to see the end this war. Focusing on that her eyes flashed, and she thought of the pride in Sauron's attack– and how it was all in vain. Suddenly she set her feet apart, holding her sword before her, and her smile was feral. "Do not give in to despair." She said to her companions. "I see a light breaking through the darkness!"

Then the enemy crashed upon them.

The battle was fierce and bloody, a confusion of screams and shrieks and terrible cries and roars. Mary spun this way and that, barely able to keep up with the blades of the orcs that surrounded her. She thrust into the belly of one, then spun, drawing the blade out to cut in a downward arc to fell another. She was aware of Legolas fighting close behind, his elven blades glinting and flashing in the dim and pale light. Then the Nazgûl swept down upon the battlefield, and the cries of the doomed men were terrible to hear. As Mary brought up her sword to block the blade of an orc she struck out with her foot, colliding with the center of the orc's chest and driving him back and into the ground where he was quickly trampled. At the same time there was a strangled cry and gurgle behind her, and she turned, sword raised, to see another orc falling dead at her feet, and Legolas with his two knives, newly stained with black blood. Their eyes met for a moment, and then they turned as new enemies attacked.

Suddenly there was a heavy rumble, and all of the black army stopped their attack, confused and bewildered, for the evil power that had driven them on was distracted and failing.

"Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom!"

In answer to Gandalf's cry the earth trembled and rocked beneath them, and a great black cloud flickering with fire rose from the land of Mordor into the sky. The great black towers shook and then groaned, and great cracks appeared in it, and the Black Gate rumbled as it fell in ruin, and then the towers followed.

As the black towers crumbled, and the eyes of all were fixed upon its ruin, a single orc – dying from the white elven blade in his belly – raised himself and his black sword, intent on taking his revenge on the elf before him, who had turned to see the destruction of the Dark Lord. Legolas did not see, transfixed by the sight of the crumbling tower that groaned as it fell. Then a desperate cry reached his ears, and he turned to have Mary fly into his arms, her eyes wild. He could not understand her panic until – as she reached for his arms and he for hers – her eyes suddenly grew wide and her mouth opened in shock, the end of a black blade shoving out from her chest. Legolas' cry hung in the air as she stood, balanced upon the sword, the color draining from her face as she stared at him with wide eyes.

With a screech of rage at being denied his revenge, the orc roughly pulled his sword free, ignoring the pained yell of the woman he pulled it from, and raised his arm to strike once more. His dying gurgle was the last sound he made as an arrow found its mark, a soldier of Gondor seeing the threat to the elven prince and acting.

With the support of the metal blade gone, Mary fell with a keening sound, the strength leaving her legs. Legolas caught her close in his arms, and lowered her gently to the ground. Her dark eyes were wide and unblinking, staring into his with perfect clarity as she fought for breath. Legolas held her face in his hands, pushing back the dark hair and wiping away with his thumbs the scarlet that rose up and ran from the corners of her mouth. Grief clenched his chest with an iron fist. "Ai," he moaned as blood pooled in the wound in her chest and soaked her clothing, running in rivulets down her leather cuirass. "Why?" he begged, eyes dark with distress as they rose to hers. "Why would you do this? Why for me? I am but one soul."

Mary could only stare at him, her skin pure as white marble, and she opened her mouth to speak but could not, the words held back by the wound in her chest and the blood in her throat. Yet in that moment she bared her soul, leaving nothing in her eyes to shutter Legolas from herself.

Then she trembled, and her hands gripped his arms as though by doing this– with him as her anchor– she could hold herself within the world. Seeing the fire dying in her eyes, the light growing dim, Legolas' fair features grew taut with pain. Then her eyes closed, and her hands– a moment ago clinging to life and to him– fell to the ground like wilted flowers.

Behind him there was a soft step, and then a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry, mellon nin." Aragorn said, his brows dark with sorrow.

Legolas shook his head, his hands tightening their hold on her face, his thumbs still wiping away the scarlet that still ran from her mouth.

"Legolas, come."

"Dain, Firen!" _Silence, Human!_ The command came in a hiss, as the elf turned on Aragorn, his eyes narrowed and black, his features suddenly sharp with a dark storm. Aragorn pulled back, frowning at the sudden change. "Ego." _Go._

"Legolas…"

"Ego! Hi!" _Go! Now!_

Turning back to the woman in his arms, ignoring Aragorn, Legolas focused deep within himself, seeking his light. It was an act born of desperation, one void of rational thinking, an act of madness, yet he clung to it as his last hope. Gathering her into his arms, Legolas opened his eyes and stared into her marble face. "Manna eruanna a cuil im gar," he whispered. "Hain her-li!" _What grace and life I have, they (are) your own!_

Aragorn had turned, walking away towards the white wizard who had gathered with Gimli and the hobbits. Yet faint, whispered words were carried to him on the wind, and he turned to see a great, piercing white light rise up from within the elf himself, and as Aragorn watched Legolas arched, throwing his head back as if with great pain, and the light seemed to pour from him and into Mary's body. All around there were shouts and calls as men saw and gathered in amazement. Yet the wizard's voice rose above the others, and it rose in alarm. Aragorn turned, and saw Gandalf running across the field, his white robes blowing behind him, shouting something in elvish. Aragorn frowned.

"Dár! Ho-uva gwann! Dár hon!" Gandalf yelled, waving his hand frantically. _Stop! He will die! Stop him!_

Aragorn ran. Realizing now what Legolas was doing, though he could hardly believe such a thing was possible, fear clutched his heart. There was a sudden roaring, like that of a great wind, and a horrible cry of pain rose above it– the voice of a spirit being torn from its body.

* * *


	4. Esse Lór: In Dreams

Limb-dhol cóon: _fish-head prince!_

* * *

"**Caran Annún" (Red Sunset)**

Chapter Four

_Esse Lór (In Dreams)_

* * *

Mary stood on the mountain, out on a red rock that jutted out into the air. Before her spread a vast mountain range, stretching high and far into the distance, red against the blue sky, their sides partially forested with deep green. About her sunlight shone down in golden ribbons, and a breeze blew through her hair and across her face, carrying up with it from the foot of the mountains spices and sweetness, and she smiled, closing her eyes, and she spread her arms wide. 

"Cen-im le mel hin ered." _See I (why) you love these mountains._

Mary turned, dropping her arms. Legolas stood behind her, his golden hair shining and blowing in the sunlit wind, and his blue eyes were clear and warm, a small smile on his face.

"Mal im ceri-ú-sinte hain." _But I do not know them._

"Hain ered o nin bar." _They (are) mountains from my home. _Mary turned back to the view before her, and glanced down to see the earth dropping out from beneath her, and she thought she would feel dizzy– but she didn't. "E Ondren Ered n-hain eneth." _The Rocky Mountains be their name._ She laughed. "Ú–ava finwe, na-ha?" _Not very creative, is it?_

"Lothron-n- ú. Mal na-cerú-maer. " _Maybe not. But it does fit._

Legolas came to her side, and breathed deep the fresh mountain air, feeling the sun warm his face.

"Ceri-le sinte vín thel-sí, sinome?" _Do you know our purpose here, in this place?_

He turned to her dark, amber eyes, looking up at him questioningly. "Im ceri-ú-sinte, meld er." _I do not know, dear one. _

"Mana brag?" _What happened?_

He looked back out across the mountain view before him, the giants rising before him and away from him, red and glowing like fire in the sunlight, green trees dotting their steep sides here and there. "Le beleth." _You (were) dying. _He finally said. "A im maquen-na eless-le." _And I ask(ed) to heal you._

Mary glanced around them. "Ah. Im host-ha ú-glenn-sie man, huh?" _Ah. I gather it (did) not go so good, huh?_

Legolas chuckled at her matter-of-fact assessment. "Im ú-tanca. Im ceri-ú-sinte alhi na-menel." _I (am) not sure. I do not know if this is heaven._

Mary looked around again, and her nose wrinkled. "What an interesting conundrum."

Legolas smiled.

Mary looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Why did you?" 

Legolas looked at her in surprise, his blue eyes widening slightly, and for a moment he found himself at a loss for words. Why had he? The center of his chest started to burn, as with an ember, yet he ignored it, attributing it to the way her eyes were boring into his, afire with sunlight. "You died for me."

Her eyes held his for a while, and he had the distinct feeling that she was reading him. "Yes," she finally said quietly. "I did."

Suddenly there was a great pull, and Mary felt a sudden heat in her veins. There was another pull, and her blood came to life, pulsing through her like pounding drums. One glance at Legolas told her he felt it as well. He looked at her.

"He is calling us."

* * *

Aragorn sat beside the bed, eyes closed, hand upon his patient's pale forehead, his other upon the patient's white hand. Gandalf stood behind, face grim and eyes dark, his arms crossed before him. At last Aragorn sighed, and stirred as though awakening from some enchantment, and ran his hand over his face, grey and lined with weariness. 

"Well?" Gandalf asked. Behind, in the doorway, two hobbits shifted nervously, and a dwarf peered over their curly heads.

Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at them. "It has been long and hard." He said. "And I do not have much strength left."

Gandalf frowned, and his gaze moved from the figure in the bed to a figure in the bed beside, covered with a white sheet.

"Frodo and Sam I have called back," Aragorn said. I expect they shall sleep a very long time."

Pippin swallowed, his eyes downcast and sorrowful. "Poor Mary." He whispered, looking at the figure covered in the sheet. "What did Legolas try to do?" he asked Gandalf meekly.

"He tried to do a thing that has not been done by any elf in my lifetime." Gandalf said, his face and eyes grim. "He gave his life to another, or tried to. To my understanding only one elf– long before, in the beginning of the world– ever attempted this."

Pippin waited as Gandalf grew silent. When the wizard did not speak again Pippin asked, "And– what happened?"

Gandalf's gaze darkened. "He died."

All were silent, staring in sadness at the two still figures on the beds, then the hobbits and Gimli turned and left to go to their own beds. Gandalf stayed for a moment longer, then he too left.

Aragorn stood, then, and glancing at the figure in the bed his gaze grew sorrowful, and he slowly reached down, and took hold of the white sheet lying at the foot of the bed, and gently he drew it across the still form.

Suddenly Mary's eyes opened and she gasped, her body arching up. Her awakening was so sudden that Aragorn was unprepared, and he jumped with a shout. As her hands flailed about, grasping for something, he recovered himself and caught them, holding them still upon the bed.

"Mary," he called. "Mary, look into my eyes."

Dark eyes wide with shock and confusion met his, and her mouth opened in a question.

"You have been in a deep sleep for a week now, lady." Aragorn said gently. "Be still. Let yourself fully waken."

For a moment she was still, staring at him. Then she surged up on the bed, pushing him aside, her eyes darting about the room. "Legolas…"

"He is here," Aragorn said, pointing to his right and the other bed.

Before he could catch her Mary had stumbled from her bed and over to Legolas', clambering onto the mattress to kneel beside his still form. Taking his hand in hers she saw how pale his skin was, and she pushed the golden hair back from his forehead, her eyes stricken. "Legolas, hlar-nin. Tul-at-ni galad. Tul-at-na nin!"_ Legolas, hear me. Come back to the light. Come back to me!_

Aragorn watched her as she repeated the last words over again, in a whisper, and again, and again. Suddenly a great breath filled the elf's body, and eyes like blue sapphires opened and looked upon her fair face. "Mary." He whispered. "You have not died."

She laughed, her shoulders shaking even as tears filled her eyes. "No, you limb-dhol cóon!"

His eyes widened in surprise at her words.

"You're lucky _you_ didn't die, either." She said, shaking her finger at him. "I swear, if you ever do…!"

Aragorn reached their side and took her shoulders, trying to contain his laughter at the bemused look on his elven friend's face. "Come now, Lady Mary." He said. "You and Legolas have both been through a great ordeal. Do not overtax yourself."

"How can I overtax myself?" Mary asked as she was helped off the bed and led to her own. "I was just talking."

"Indeed. And quite passionately, too." Aragorn helped her into her own bed and covered her with a blanket. "Lay there and rest a while, until I say otherwise." Pointing a warning finger at her, and smiling inwardly at the defiant gleam of her eyes, Aragorn returned to Legolas' side. "And how are you, mellon nin?" he asked quietly.

Legolas, who had been looking at the dark haired maiden in the bed next to his, looked up quickly. "I am well, Aragorn." He assured the man. "How long have we been asleep?"

"A week." Aragorn said. "We thought we had lost you. What were you thinking?"

Legolas closed his eyes. "I was not." He said, his voice a whisper.

Aragorn paused a moment. That was not the answer he had expected from his elven friend.

Late that night, while Legolas slept, Mary lay on her side in her own bed, watching him. She thought back to what she and Legolas had been through, and of their time on the mountain. She did not know where they had been, or what exactly had happened there. Perhaps, she mused, it was a place deep within their minds, or a place their spirits retreated to while their bodies healed. Her hand went to her chest; there was not even a scar.

Meld er. Dear one. A term of endearment. He had almost died, should have died, to save her. Gandalf had visited that day, and in quiet words had explained what Legolas had done. How it was not a thing anyone believed to be possible. How most thought it was only a legend that an elf had done so before. How the drain on his life should have killed him; and yet, for some reason, it did not. There had been a bemused look on Gandalf's face as he related this last part, and his eyes kept flickering between the elf and her.

* * *

It seemed a great while before Frodo and Sam finally awoke, and when they did there was a great celebration and much honor bestowed upon them. A feast was prepared, and a minstrel sang of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom. Then all retired for a spell, to change and prepare for the evening feast, and then there was laughter and eating and wine and music, and Mary was requested to play upon a fiddle, and she did, and the melody she wrought from it was akin to some spirit's song, or the cries of the sea gulls, and it played upon the heart strings of all present. 

It was late, and the moon rose in her sky and shone down on them with a soft light. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin, and Gandalf walked and talked under the trees of Ithilien, and presently Legolas and Gimli joined them. Stories were told and shared, each of his own adventures, and at the end of it all Frodo and Sam felt their heads were all a whirl.

It was only when they had told all there was to tell and basked for long hours in each others company that Mary finally joined them. Frodo stood as she approached, and bowed. "You are the Lady Mary?"

She returned his bow. "I am." She smiled at him. "We have not yet properly met, Master Frodo Baggins."

"No, we haven't." Frodo agreed, his eyes light with the merriment of the day. "Yet I have heard much of you, and the story my friends tell amazes me."

"As your story amazes me." Mary glanced at Sam, who was staring at her with wide eyes, and he blushed at being caught. "And you, Master Samwise Gamgee. I am honored to meet you."

"No more than I am to meet you, m'lady." Sam said, quickly bowing. "It's not every day a hobbit gets to meet a– a prophetess."

A slight blush crept into her cheeks. "Perhaps not. But it's not every day that a hobbit does what no man could, and becomes a hero of all Middle Earth."

Sam's cheeks grew pink, and he ducked his head, mumbling something about how it weren't him that carried the ring, yet it was clear he was pleased.

Gandalf rose. "The hands of the King are hands of healing, dear friends, but you went to the very brink of death ere he recalled you, putting forth all his power, and sent you into the sweet forgetfulness of sleep." He smiled kindly at Frodo and Sam, who looked at him reproachfully. "And though you have indeed slept long and blessedly, still it is now time to sleep again."

As the hobbit made to protest, Gimli interrupted them. "And not only Sam and Frodo here, but you too, Pippin." He pointed at the youngest hobbit, his face stern, yet his dark eyes twinkled. "I love you, if only because of the pains you have cost me, which I shall never forget! Nor shall I forget finding you on the hill of the last battle. But for Gimli the Dwarf you would have been lost then. But at least I know now the look of a hobbit's foot, though it be all that can be seen under a heap of bodies. And when I heaved that great carcass off you I made sure you were dead. I could have torn out my beard! And it is only a day yet since you were first up and abroad again. To bed now you go. And so shall I."

Pippin admitted defeat. "Very well, I shall go." He said. "But only if you walk with us, Gimli."

"That I shall do." The dwarf said, smiling warmly.

"And I shall walk in the woods of this fair land, which is rest enough." Legolas said. He looked around him at the trees. "In days to come, if my Elven-lord allows, some of our folk shall come; and when we come it shall be blessed, for a while. For a while. A month, a life, a hundred years of Men. But Anduin is near, and Anduin leads down to the Sea." A faraway look entered his eye. "The Sea." He whispered. In a quiet voice he began to sing, walking away through the trees.

"To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,

The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.

West, west away, the round sun is falling.

Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,

The voices of my people that have gone before me?"

As his voice faded away into the night air the companions became aware of another voice, picking up where his left off, so quiet they could almost not hear it:

"I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;

For our days are ending and our years failing.

I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.

Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,

Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,

In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,

Where the leaves fall not; land of my people for ever."

Mary looked up from where she had leaned against the trunk of a tree, her hands behind, her eyes staring through the shadows to follow the figure of the elf disappearing through the trees. Frodo tipped his head, his eyes curious. Yet when she looked at him he bowed, extending his hand in a wide arc before him. "My lady," he said. "I take my leave for the night. Shall we see each other tomorrow?"

Mary smiled. "We shall, Master Frodo."

Then Merry and Pippin left with Gimli, and then Frodo and Sam with Gandalf, who paused a moment at her side. "You too should get some rest," he said, his eyes kind as they gazed down at her.

Mary glanced up at him, and nodded. "I will. But I would like to walk a while, first."

Gandalf nodded, and smiled. Then he left with the hobbits.

Mary wandered through the trees, hearing the music of a night bird high among the leaves, and a gentle wind– its scent sweet from the scarlet flowers of the trees– wound its way around and about her. She could smell the waters of the Anduin the further she walked, and as she walked she began to sing.

"When the cold of winter comes

Starless night will cover day

In the veiling of the sun

We will walk in bitter rain

But in dreams

I can hear your name

And in dreams

We will meet again."

Soon the trees parted before her, and she stood upon the bank of the great river, sparkling and glittering in the moon and starlight. It stretched on endlessly, flowing ever constant southwest towards the sea. As she stood upon the bank, gazing out across it, a gull flew overhead– strange though it was for a gull to be flying so late at night– and it gave a lonely call that echoed through the air, flying high above the trees, haunting and strange. Mary stared at it, and suddenly a terrible pain flared within her heart, and great longing and desire, and she found her gaze pulled and held southwest, towards the sea, and the sound of the river grew loud in her ears, and within it and within the gull's cry she almost heard voices, beckoning her, urging her on, pulling her in. She felt not the cold of the water as her bare foot dipped into it, nor did she feel the current reach up and wrap about her legs as she stepped, drawing her deeper.

"When the seas and mountains fall

And we come to end of days

In the dark I hear a call

Calling me there

I will go there

And back again…"

The gull circled above her, its cries growing in her ears– they were more urgent, more insistent, almost in warning, becoming loud and sharp. Still the music of the water filled her mind and her ears, and Mary followed it, not hearing her name called behind her.

Suddenly strong arms encircled her like iron bands, and she was drawn out of the river, and she could hear nothing but the water calling to her. In vain she struggled against the arms that held her. She was laid upon the bank, and above her wheeled the gull in circles. Something covered her ears and a shadow obscured the night sky from her vision. All became silent.

As though waking from a dream Mary blinked. Legolas crouched over her, his slanted elven eyes mere slits with worry, and his hands covered her ears, blocking out all sound. His golden hair hung down about his face, and brushed against hers.

How long Legolas held her there, with her ears covered, she did not know. After what seemed like forever he glanced up at the sky, as though searching for something, and seeming satisfied he removed his hands from her ears. Mary heard the water yet again, but it was only the sound of it rushing by, and the gull was gone. Her chest no longer burned, but it ached, and she sat up slowly.

"What happened?"

His face was grim. "The sea-longing." He said.

Mary's brows drew together in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Nor do I." Legolas held out his hand. "Come. Let us find Gandalf."

Gandalf woke instantly when they found his tent, and his eyes gazed at her curiously as Legolas explained what had happened, and then as Mary told her side. "Most interesting." He murmured, pulling out his pipe and tobacco.

"Gandalf, how can this be?" Mary asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I'm not an elf."

Gandalf took several puffs on his pipe as he lit it, eyeing her. "Ah," he said, "But you were given the life of an elf, were you not?"

Mary's eyes widened, and Legolas turned to him in surprise. "Surely you don't think…?" he exclaimed.

Gandalf lifted his shoulders, blowing out some smoke. "I do not know. This has never happened before." He looked at them. "You gave her your own life and strength to heal her. Anything is possible."

Over the next few days Mary thought over Gandalf's words, and focused on herself, to see if she could sense any kind of– difference in her. Yet she felt none, save for the longing she now felt to go to sea.

* * *

When they returned to Minas Tirith, Mary stood in the back and watched as Aragorn was welcomed by the people of Gondor, and crowned king. In the days that followed she settled herself in the women's wing of the palace, and she helped where she could in the people's efforts to restore their city. It was many days, long and weary days, before she saw Legolas again. One night she stood out on the wall, leaning against it, and gazing out across the plains, and out towards Anduin. After a long while she felt a presence beside her, and a warmth filled her, and she smiled. 

"Veduí, Héri Mary." He said. _Greetings, Lady Mary._

"Veduí, Haryon Legolas." _Greetings, Prince Legolas._

There was silence then, as each rested in the others company.

"Manen nalyë?" he asked. _How are you?_

"Im maer." She replied. _I'm well._

She felt his eyes upon her. "Sanda?" he whispered. _Truly? _

Mary glanced down, hiding a smile at his concern, and then looked up to meet his gaze. "Sanda." _Truly._

He tipped his chin, his face relaxed and quiet, and he looked out across the plains. "Aragorn na man aran." _Aragorn is a good king_.

"É" _Indeed._

"Ananta ho darth-an qua." _But yet he waits for something_.

Mary did not bother to hide this smile, and bit her bottom lip, leaning forward against the wall.

"Le sinte mana ha na." _You know what it is_.

"Im ceri." _I do_.

Legolas glanced at her from the corner of his eye, carefully keeping his face and his voice indifferent. "Anír na nar-meldir?" _Wish to tell a friend_?

Mary shook her head, her eyes dancing. "Nope."

"The war is over. There is no more danger."

"Yet now there is the pleasure of surprise!"

Legolas tried to hide his exasperation at her teasing tone. The lady enjoyed playing games far too much, he thought, a touch of a smile curving his mouth.

As the days, and then the weeks, continued Legolas and Mary continued to meet upon the wall, or walk through the gardens. Their time together was filled with laughter and talk, and it was most enjoyable, and both were at peace, and both wondered at the bond of friendship that had formed. Many times Gimli would join them, and sometimes the hobbits, or Gandalf, or even Aragorn. Yet there were those few precious times when it was just the two of them, and they could speak together, or else be silent and know that the silence was alright.

Then one night, as Mary entered the dining hall for the evening meal, she saw Legolas at his place at the high table, with Aragorn and Gandalf, and Gimli beside, and the four hobbits. Now that there was no more war Legolas dressed as his royal title allowed, with a circlet of mithril upon his head, and he looked every bit the prince that he was. And suddenly Mary felt a hand clench her heart, and her joy dimmed. For suddenly she realized that she could never be a part of that world. All that she had was given to her by the grace of the Fellowship and Aragorn alone; by herself she had nothing, and was nothing. With a heavy heart and downcast face she then approached the table, where they had set aside a seat for her. Legolas noticed her coming, and turned to greet her with a smile, but his smile was halted by the shadow in her eyes. When she sat down she smiled at him, and laughed and talked merrily with all those around as she was wont to do, but he noticed that the light never reached her eyes, and he wondered what had happened.

As soon as the meal was over Mary excused herself, and when she had gained the halls and was out of sight she fled to her room, and locked the door, and sat on her bed and pondered. She struggled within herself, with her desire to stay, and with the reality that she could not. Yes, Aragorn could allow her to live in the palace, could make her a lady of the court. Yet Mary knew that Legolas would soon enough come to live in Ithilien, and be always around. Mary hugged herself, cursing against fate, that she should find love only to have it torn away. She knew she could not bear it to be so close to him if they were to be apart. Dressing for bed she pulled back the covers and slid beneath them, rolling to her side.

The hand on her chest fisted, crushing the cloth of her nightgown in her fingers. She had known her own feelings for a long time, but had never thought of the gaping difference in their social status. Her eyes welled with tears, and she turned her face into the pillow. She had loved him before ever they had met, and since then her love had grown.

Yet it could never be.

* * *


	5. Namárië An Hi: Farewell For Now

**"Caran Amrún" (Red Sunrise)**

_"Namárië; An Hi." (Farewell; For Now.)  
_

* * *

_The End… of this tale._

_Please watch the horizon for the final end of this story in "Silver Dawn," soon to come._

* * *


End file.
